


like 'o', like 'h' (in your blood)

by rain_at_dawn



Series: chiaroscuro [9]
Category: SHINee
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Forbidden Love, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Overstimulation, Sex Toys, shadowhunters au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27981690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_at_dawn/pseuds/rain_at_dawn
Summary: Minho and Kibum push (and break) the limits of their vows.
Relationships: Choi Minho/Kim Kibum | Key
Series: chiaroscuro [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951579
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	like 'o', like 'h' (in your blood)

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is partially based on the Shadowhunters series, so while you don't need to have extensive knowledge of the fandom lore to get what's going on, here's a brief glossary of the terms that appear in this fic:
> 
> _stele_ \- not the wooden/stone slabs commonly associated with the word, but tools used by Shadowhunters to draw runes on their skin
> 
> _iratze_ \- healing runes, though I've expanded their usage here ^^
> 
> _parabatai_ \- a pair of Nephilim warriors, bound together by an oath. Romantic love between them is forbidden in the Shadowhunters universe

Minho secretly loves the way the pointed tip of Kibum’s blade traces along his bare skin. In his dreams, it burns the way a comet hurtling through the universe probably would. When he’s awake, it’s enough that Kibum’s eyes ever graze him the exact same way.

On the night of their _parabatai_ bonding ceremony, the stele in his hand had not once strayed off the pattern he’d marked into Kibum’s skin. These were the runes that would entwine them forever, until only death and decay could lay claim to their bond. The wide blue spread of sea that surrounded Imja island had seemed to shimmer with each trace of the rune he completed, just like the ocean which their campsite on a cliff in Jeju overlooked now.

In moonlight, their bond runes prickle underneath their skin. It might just be the aftereffect of the previous adrenalin rush, courtesy of a mantid demon infestation further above on the hilltop summit. But for Minho, it’s Kibum’s lips scorching patterns on his neck and chest, and the jade yoni egg being pushed inside him.

Like the last time, he’d learned not to squirm from the intrusion. It would distract him from Kibum, the only thing filling up Minho’s mind underneath the golden crescent moon keeping watch. The little egg was supposed to keep him stimulated, though that’s already proving a tough war to win against the tip of Kibum’s tongue encircling his exposed nipple and the curved ends of his nails digging into his waist. There were things that Minho had been raised to give thanks to the Angel for; he’d hardly imagined such a moment to count as one of them.

When Kibum reaches for his stele, Minho shifts, not unexcitedly. _Iratzes_ were Kibum’s specialty, from soothing burns and healing open wounds to improving endurance and inciting courage during battle. There hadn’t been a member of the Institute left unattended by his efforts following the aftermath of a battle or raid. Everyone loved Kibum that way, for what he could do for them. Perhaps Minho should too.

Kibum had grown more adventurous as his skills had expanded to include the more esoteric runes. His – and Minho’s – favorites are the bacchanalia amongst them; the ones meant to stir and stimulate. He moves the stele over Minho’s heated skin, right below his navel, and Minho shuts his eyes in ill-concealed bliss. The bacchanalia ghost coolly along the bones of his hips and thighs, barely brushing what hung between them.

It had been six years since he’d taken an oath to follow Kibum through every storm, plunge into every abyss that threatened to swallow his partner up whole, just like Kibum would do for him in return. The words were carved into their skin, blessed by the Angel; with each year that had passed since the ceremony, Minho had added to them, pressed them into Kibum’s mouth straight off his tongue.

He'd bowed to the Angel, clutching Kibum’s hand to his side.

Whether it was that Italian summer that had them fucking in a camper van parked off the side of a wine country road or that spring in Macau they’d similarly wasted in a dusty little attic room above in an antique shop in the tourist district, Minho was making good on his vows. They would wring each other out good, Kibum and him, and they would put each other back together again.

On a cliff on Jeju island, the stars above them and Kibum’s stele burn. If Minho has to be honest about this part to any deity that watched them, he’d still own up to liking it. Loving it. Words that burn down his throat and chest when he swallows them. Kibum’s eyes are closed when Minho opens his own to admire him; his eyelashes are cast down, softening the furrow of his brows as he blindly seeks Minho’s lips.

The kiss is a tithe for a forbidden promise; their kind aren’t supposed to desecrate the _parabatai_ bond like this. Such sacrilege warrants exile, if they were to be caught.

Such a punishment carries little weight out here in the night air, this close to the sea where darker secrets lurk. In the morning, they’d pull on their clothes and set the creases straight, and Minho would explain the hickies dotting the skin over his collarbones as a goodbye gift from an old sweetheart. There was no shame in illicit trysts among Shadowhunters.

Just as long as it wasn’t one’s sworn _parabatai_.

With a flick of his wrist and a twist of his fingers, Kibum removes the yoni egg and replaces it with the tip of his throbbing cock. His tongue laps circles over Minho’s quivering chest; it’s been a while since Kibum had properly topped him like this, but Minho knows exactly how to go about it.

Kibum loves it when he opens up for him. He loves it when Minho gets loud with how much he wants him, even if he has to clap a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet in case of a passing eavesdropper. He loves it when Minho begs him to keep going, even after he’s climaxed, just because he wants – needs – Kibum to fling himself over the edge and drape his spent body over his.

The stele’s tip glides over Minho’s toned stomach, etching the square-shaped rune for ecstasy, and then is immediately cast aside as Kibum grabs his wrist and seizes him by the mouth again while he snaps his hips forward. Exactly like Minho wants him to, the way he loves it.

He knows he’ll always love Kibum; lost in the throes of pleasure, seeking heat during cold nights at the Institute, guarding his back in battle, holding his hand when the losses mounted, even if it wasn’t part of the vows he’d spoken years ago. Theirs was a promise beyond words, etched deeper than skin, blood and bone.

He’ll keep reminding Kibum of it, for as many nights like this were won.


End file.
